A Knife in the Gut
by ElyseWrites
Summary: We've all heard the the 74th Hunger Games from the POV of Katniss, but how about Clove? This is the story of Clove DeGracia. Rated T because its the Hunger Games.
1. The Discovery of a Knife

**Author's Note: Hey guys! You may recognize me from the in-progress story The 220****th**** Hunger Games: Test of Survival, and if not, you might want to check it out! Sorry that this chapter is so short, but it's kind of an intro to the rest of the story. Don't worry; the other chapters will be longer. It would make my day if everyone who read this could take a couple seconds to review this story! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 1: The Discovery of the Knife**

I still remember the first time I laid eyes on a knife. I was a mere five years of age, and my family and I were watching the Hunger Games. I was just beginning to understand the concept of it, and I was instantly, eternally intrigued. The skill, the wit, the manipulation, it was all a game where only the best are able to survive. After all, they were the only people who deserved to live.

It was the first day, the bloodbath, which is my favorite part to this moment. I love how it gives the audience a main pointer on who to sponsor, and how it weeds out the weak who were never contenders. So it was only fitting that on my favorite day of the Games, I discovered what was to be my favorite weapon. One of the Careers, I believe it was the girl from District 1, was tossing around knives at lightning speed as if they were blocks. I kept my eyes on her; she and her knives had enticed me.

The glint of the metal, the sharp, serrated blade, the satisfying thump when the weapon found its target. I gleefully imagined the many tortures I could perform with those knives in my hands; slicing off limbs, causing the demise of my enemies with a flick of the wrist, drawing pictures in the skin. I have always been sadistic, but of that I am proud. It signifies that I am strong, that I am willing to fight, that I am not like the rest.

It was then, during those Games, that I realized that those knives were meant to be mine. I was and still am positive that the deadly weapons hold my future, my destiny, my life. As long one of them is in my grasp, I will always be safe and alive. I had already laid my trust in its iron blade.

In the Districts of 1, 2, and 4, children were to begin training at the age of seven. You were to try out different skills to see what you were best at, but of course, I had already chosen my weapon. The training center at District 2 had the newest versions and biggest variety of weapons and obstacles is the Districts, as we were the ones who manufactured them. Upon entering, my eyes searched for those precious, precious weapons. They were better than I could have possibly hoped for. Over a dozen of them, all unique, beckoned to me on a rack.

After examining them, I picked up the smallest one, thinking it would be easiest. I stood about 20 feet away from the standard bulls-eye target and tried to imitate what I had seen the tributes do in the Games. I spread my feet out, positioned my arms, and was poised to throw when the knife instructor rushed over to me and stopped me. _How dare he barge in and interrupt me right when I was about to throw! _I fumed. His name, I learned, was Vladimir, and he adjusted my stance, so my feet were closer together. He then told me to flick my wrist and release. I followed his advice, but the knife landed on the outer ring of the target, barely sticking.

I began to feel my anger rising, but reminded myself to keep a cool head, because it was my first try. I would definitely get better. Every day, I rendezvoused to the training center after school to practice. In two years time, I was able to hit the middle of the bulls-eye every time, no exceptions. That was when I was 9. From then until my current age of 15, I mastered the art of knives in its entirety, learning how to hit animate objects of any speed, throw while somersaulting, and even picking up spear throwing, although I was nowhere near as good at that as I was with knives. In my world, there is no such thing as a mistake, no such thing as inaccuracy. All I know is perfection.

That is the reason why I have made the most drastic decision of my life. It may hurt me, but I am almost positive that I will come back to fame and fortune. Tomorrow, I am going to volunteer as a tribute for the 74th Hunger Games.


	2. The Reaping

**Author's Note: Hey guys! Sorry about the super long wait for this chapter. My computer suddenly erased this chapter while I was writing it, so I had to start all over again. Bummer, I know. But here it is! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 2: the Reaping**

The day has finally arrived. The day that I have been anticipating for so many years, the day where my trainer said that I would be able to volunteer. Today is the day of my 3rd reaping. The moment my eyes open, I leap out of bed and run downstairs to my training room. Ever since my mother learned that my weapon was to be knives, she installed a state-of-the-art training room in an unoccupied space. It has targets of all kinds, mats to practice rolls, and all the other equipment I would need to practice at home. It would be equal to the official training center if my trainer Nolin were to be here.

The reason that I train nearly every morning is not because I think I need to prepare. It's because it's calming for me, and an outlet for any of my emotions. Throwing knives all has a rhythm to it; the flick of your wrist, the way your heart speeds up, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You may say that it's ironic, how adrenaline can be calming, but some things in life just _are; _you can't explain them. This is one of these mysteries.

I throw for a little over an hour, and now it's all out of my system. I run upstairs back to my room, because it is time to get ready for the reaping. What to wear, what to wear? I'm searching for something that is pretty, but not girly; strong, but not vicious. I don't want Panem to see my true, sadistic personality just yet; they'll see it later in the arena. Right now I want to come across as a contender, but not a ruthless killing machine.

I find something that I believe suits my needs. A form-fitting black lace dress, matched with black boots. Perfect. I slip them on, and allow my raven hair to cascade just past my shoulders. I even take the liberty of applying cheek tint so my cheeks look rosier. The black in my outfit says that I am a fighter, yet my pretty appearance will draw in sponsors.

"Clove!" my mother screams from the kitchen. My father passed away when I was a toddler, so I never knew him. "Are you ready for the reaping? You're going to the Capitol, so wear something nice!"

"Yes, Mother!" I holler back. "I'll come down now!" I descend the stairs and walk into the kitchen, which also has a small dining table. Of course, this is not our main dining room, but we usually reserve that one for fancy dinners. My mother is sitting at the table, already eating eggs and toast.

"Did you train this morning?" She asks briskly. She makes sure I train every day, regardless of my already perfected skills. In her delusional mind, she thinks that I still have room for improvement. I got past that stage a _long _time ago. However, I still do practice almost every day, not to improve, but simply because I enjoy it. Nothing is for enjoyment in her world. Everything is for a practical reason.

"Yes, I did," I say. She nods approvingly, her black bob swaying in her face.

"Well," Mother says. "I just want to make sure that you will become victor, without a doubt." I already _am as _prepared as one can possibly be. Why in Panem can she not see that? She's watched me train numerous times; it should be as blatant as the sun.

"Don't worry, "I respond stiffly. "Nolin says that I am his best student, and even he knows that I will come home."

"Alright," she concedes. "Come home and shower us with fortunes." I barely hold back a snort. That's all she's ever cared about; the _riches. _Not about me making it back safely. I mean, fame and fortune is the incentive, for sure, but there should be at least a part of her that worries about my well-being.

We eat the rest of our meal in silence, until we leave for the Reaping. When we leave the house is when my mother transforms from an uptight, power-craving woman to a social butterfly, full of laughs and gossip. Her conversation is usually about assorted people around the District, such as who likes who, who dumped who, etc. On our way to the square, it is all about me.

"Did you hear that my dear Clove is volunteering for the Hunger Games?" I hear her boast to a neighbor. "Oh, she's always had a way with knives, and I always knew that her talents would amount to something like this!" Times like these, where she is speaking with her friends, are the only circumstances where she chooses to compliment me, and that is only to higher people's opinions about us.

We reach the square soon, and the camera crew has just finished setting up. I go sign in, and head over to the 15-year old section. I wave to my friends Melaka and Indigo, and as Indigo waves back, Melaka gives me a cold look of acknowledgement. She wanted to volunteer this year as well, but I forced her to wait using tactics that I will not disclose. Let's just say she's still a bit sour about the incident.

Our escort, Aurelia Bramble, strides out to the stage, wearing a new get-up that is just as silly as the previous years. Her neon pink dress covered with psychedelic swirls would have been bad enough, but with her unnaturally blonde curls, ghostly makeup, and spiky high heels, it was painful to look at. Anyone who thinks that the richer districts have more dignified escorts is completely wrong.

"Welcome, District 2!" she trills. "It is now time to choose 2 lucky tributes to participate in this year's Hunger Games!" The excitement I've been holding in starts bubbling up inside me. "Now we will present our mayor to read the Treaty of Treason." The mayor steps up, but I do not pay attention to his words, as I am trying to contain the bubbles that keep rising higher. _Keep the excitement down, be calm…_

"Girls, are you ready?" Aurelia asks, and trots over to the girls reaping ball. _You're almost there, Clove, you're almost there… _"Clove DeGracia!" Me? Wow, that's perfect. I don't even have to volunteer. I plaster on my most charming grin to strut toward the stage, and take my place confidently. "I volunteer!" I hear someone say through my euphoria. Wait, what? A volunteer? I begin to panic inwardly. No one can take away this opportunity!

I take deep breaths to calm myself. "I decline any volunteers!" I say smoothly, looking right in the eye of the girl who tried to steal my moment. She looks about my age, with cropped blond hair and blue eyes. Her look shoots daggers at me, and she slowly slinks back into the crowd. This only makes my grin wider.

"Okay girls, no more volunteering!" Aurelia starts in the direction of the boys reaping ball. "Boys, it's your turn!" She plucks a name out and barely reads the name "Frederic Cortez" when a monstrous boy of about 18 lunges through the crowd.

"I volunteer!" he shouts. He sprints to the stage and literally pushes aside Frederic. He stands next to Aurelia and smiles cockily. "The name is Cato Nalir," he says. Goodness, he is huge. I am considered muscular for and tall for my age, but he is a human wonder. His biceps look like stone, and he looms over a head taller than me. _No, Clove, you can't be intimidated. Remember how skilled you are, and you will probably allies. Relax, Clove…_

"Looks like we have a volunteer!" exclaims Aurelia happily. "Now, give a hand for the tributes of District 2!" The audience applauds and cheers, because here, we support the Games. I've seen Reaping from the latter Districts, and they are hard-faced and scowling. That is absolutely no way to show patriotism.

Cato and I are escorted into the Justice building, where we are to say our final goodbyes. _It finally happened, _I think. _Now all I have to do is carry through. Which should not be a problem… should it? _


	3. Dinner with the Mentors

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! Sorry that I am a very slow updater, but I am very busy with my other story, which is more in command. It would be great if everyone who read this would review, as it would totally make my day! *If you are against the deleting of SYOTs, go to the story Revenge of the Deleted Stories by The Mockingjay's Flight, and join the SYOT Games. **For those of you who are not aware, there is a Hunger Games Awards Forum, where you can nominate fics for many categories. They're not well known throughout the whole site, so I just wanted to spread the word. **

**Chapter 3: Dinner with the Mentors**

I didn't expect my mother to come say goodbye. What would she have told me, anyways? That she hopes that I win so that we will earn a spot in the Victor's Village? There would have been nothing to say. And it is better for my focus if I didn't have a goodbye to occupy my mind. There was all a logical reason to why I spent the hour alone in the lush room. Why I don't have a token. Or at least that's what I keep telling myself.

I repeat this over and over in my mind as Cato, Aurelia, and I arrive at the train station. _It was not a surprise that she didn't come, Clove. Actually, you wouldn't want her to visit you. She never cared about you, only the money. Right? _ I put on a composed smile and walk onto the platform, Cato doing the same. Capitol broadcasters are buzzing around, capturing every moment. I wave calmly at them, just one step closer to winning over the crowd.

Our trio steps into the train car, and the doors slam shut behind us. "Well," Aurelia says brightly. "Here we are. Isn't it nice?" It wasn't nice. No, it wasn't nice at all. It was beautiful. My own house is considered grandly furnished, but is nothing compared to this. I wish that we were allotted more time on this train, although the room in the Capitol will probably surpass this. The polished mahogany tables are ornately carved, laden with foods seemingly placed there for decorative purposes. The chairs are made of plush materials, and a gleaming chandelier hangs overhead. And to think that all of this is just the dining room. I find myself almost giddy wondering what my bedroom will look like.

"Nice place," Cato says with a grin. I can't tell if it's one of happiness or of sarcasm. I, however, am completely serious when I say, "This is amazing." Aurelia looks pleased with our responses.

"Well," she says. "I am so glad that you all love this place." She states this as if she were the one who single-handedly decorated it, which I thoroughly doubt. "We're going to get you settled into your rooms, and you can rest. After all, it has been an _exhausting _day. When you hear a rap on the door, you will come out for dinner to discuss strategies with your mentors." She briskly leads us down the hallway, which passes through the train cars, to the section which houses are rooms. We stop in the middle of the hall, between two doors. "These are your bedrooms for the night," she says. "Right across from each other."

We both nod and go into our bedrooms. My high standards are certainly exceeded. The king-sized bed is covered in a fluffy down comforter, reminding me of fresh snow. The blue carpet is etched with complex designs, and a modern lighting fixture provides a warm glow. I discover that my bathroom has a shower, something that I've only heard about. They are a novelty only found in the Capitol. It has a faucet above my head that pours down little streams of water simultaneously. I decide to take one, and experiment with all of the little buttons that change the temperature, scent, and the pressures of the water.

I dry off and find you can program the closet to outfits of your liking. I do so and dress, then collapse onto my heavenly soft bed. This is the perfect way to travel into what will most assuredly be the beginning of my fame. All too soon a sharp knock fills my ears and I know that it is time for dinner.

I walk into the dining room and sit down between Cato and Aurelia. Across the table are a young man and women, who are clearly our mentors. I cannot help but give a small, almost unnoticeable smirk at the quiet that surrounds us. Couldn't someone just _speak _to rub the tension out of the air? Nevertheless, the mentors just stare at us, surely examining us like a frog being dissected in biology.

Aurelia finally breaks silence. "Cato and Clove," she proclaims with an air. "Meet your mentors, Morla Sandre and Borellius Narch; victors of the 70th and 67th Hunger Games, respectively." It is my turn to survey them. Morla looks like she is in her early twenties. She has chestnut brown hair that falls in layers to her ribs, and an intelligent aura about her, making her seem like she is calculating your every move. She eyes me curiously; hopefully she will favor me. Borellius is older than Morla, with icy eyes and an unforgiving stare. I can tell that he will be placing his money on Cato, as he is looking at me as if I am the weaker of the bunch. I do not blame him, as at a glance, Cato _does _appear to be the stronger than I. What matters more are our weaponry skills, though. Cato can't expect that his physique alone will win the Games, so I wonder how he can handle a weapon. I've never seen him before at training.

Borellius speaks next. "This lad… Cato? He looks like a strong one; look at those muscles and that sheer strength. I'd say that you are the best bet of the two. What can you do, boy?"

Cato gets this superior look about him, which irritates me deeply. "I'm great at handling the spear _and _the sword, but I can make do with any other weapon. Of course, I'm _obviously _the stronger one here, and which makes me the first choice at hand-to-hand combat." Borellius looks impressed, and Cato smiles triumphantly.

I try to send Morla telepathic messages. _Speak up about me; divert the attention from Cato. Make it seem like I am the one to watch. _Fortunately, she seems to read my thoughts. She shoots Borellius a disapproving look. "Borrelius," she says as if explaining something to a mere child, despite the fact that he is older than she. "Physical strength alone does by no means determine the ability of the tribute. Why, just last year the victor was a child who was _much _smaller than Clove here. We shouldn't jump to conclusions so quickly. Now, Clove, let's hear your skills."

I am ready for this question. "I am the best at our training center at knife throwing, and I am quick and agile." I shoot Cato a malicious grin on account of my next words. "And I am _also _quite adequate at the art of spears, although I find knife throwing much more efficient." I finish.

"See?" Morla says to Borellius. "There is an equal amount of talent packed into Clove as there is to Cato. They're both contenders." It is obvious, however, that as much as Borellius tries to follow Morla's word, he is fixated on Cato's bulging biceps.

Morla clears her throat and hastily moves on. "Tomorrow afternoon we'll be in the Capitol, and you will be made up for the tribute parade. Since District 2 is a richer District, you will probably have good stylists. Therefore, your outfit will be astonishing, so you have to interact with the audience to take it to the next level. This is a vital step in earning sponsors. Do whatever it take to win over the crowd." Cato and I both solemnly nod, while Borellius echoes her with, "Exactly" and "Mm-hmm".

"And then?" Cato asks with a smirk. "So that's all the advice that our brilliant mentors are going to give us?" Morla shoots him a look that immediately quiets him.

No," Morla says. "We are going to take it one step at a time. No point in having you worrying about future events when we haven't even gotten to the first one." It makes sense, although I am still curious about what our strategies should be later on.

"Wait!" exclaims Borellius. "We forgot to pick which tribute we want!" The traditional way of mentoring is that the tribute gets the mentor that shares their gender. Here, we have strayed from the usual because we believe that if the female mentor wishes to have the male tribute, then so be it.

Morla rolls her eyes in exasperation. "Haven't we already made it clear enough who we want?" she sighs.

"We have to make it official," insists Borellius. "I pick Cato!" Of course. What a surprise.

"I never would have guessed," mutters Morla sarcastically, basically echoing my thoughts. "Which is perfect, because I select Clove." I'm definitely glad that she wanted me, as she seems the sharper of the two. I doubt that Borellius will be much help to Cato.

It is now that everyone realizes that there is actually food sitting on the table, and it is once again silent as we all eat our delicacies. It's the finest food that I have ever tasted, with four courses: creamy tomato soup, fresh salad with little bread chunks called croutons, racks of lamb dripping with rich sauce, and a spongy cake with cherry frosting. The only sound is the chewing and Cato and me's contented sighs.

When we finish our dinner, Aurelia stands up. "Shall we go watch the reapings?" she asks, and goes into the lounge room with the television. I follow eager to view the people who may possibly end my life.


	4. The Recap of the Reapings

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! Thanks to all of you who have reviewed this story. I just wanted to inform you that this will be the first in a series of POV stories for many of the tributes in the 74****th**** Hunger Games. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 4: The Recap of the Reapings**

As we all follow Aurelia into the next carriage to watch the Reapings, I am buzzing with curiosity about who my competitors will be, and particularly who my allies will be. Everyone in Panem is aware that Districts 1, 2, and 4 forms an alliance that is widely known as the Careers, and sometimes ask other adequate tributes to join. I wonder who they will be.

I sit down on the plush couch next to Morla, while Cato sits next to Borellius. The television in front of us is the widest one that I've ever seen. It is astonishingly flat compared to the box we have in our home, but what can one expect when travelling with the Capitol? Aurelia turns on the television and the Seal of Panem fills the screen, accompanied by the anthem. The Seal shows twelve symbols, representing the Districts, in the hands of a godly figure that I assume is the Capitol.

This scene and the music fade to show the square of District 1, where the first reaping of the day is conducted. The citizens fill the proximity, buzzing with excitement about the event. The buildings there are grander than they are in our District, but they are the makers of luxury items so it is only the standard. However, we are stronger and have a greater amount of Hunger Games victors, which I believe is more important than having a pretty exterior.

When the escort picks a slip from the female ball, a blonde girl older than I steps forward to volunteer. Her name is Glimmer, and she without a doubt lives up to her name. I can't help but feel a pang of jealousy at her unconditional beauty. Everything about her façade is immaculate, from her golden hair tousled to perfection to her lush figure. Not to mention her striking green eyes and features so chiseled that she looks like a porcelain doll. She will gain sponsors without having to blink one of her irritatingly long lashes. I know that Cato heartily agrees, as his mouth is dropped open with his eyes wide. For some reason, I'm a bit annoyed by this, but I don't know why. I've never wanted to be the object of Cato's affection's, so I quickly shake it off. I find that I have to keep reminding myself that just like the District from which she comes, what matters is what's on the inside in terms of skill. I could very well be much more talented than she where weapons are concerned. I couldn't for the life of me imagine her getting down and dirty in an arena, killing ruthlessly. However, you can never judge somebody without seeing what they can do, so she isn't counted out of the Career alliance yet.

The male tribute is another volunteer by the name of Marvel. How unrespectable names that the children of that District are given; how can a person be taken seriously when their title reflects such superficial things. He looks to be strong and capable, although he in no way compared with the physical strengths of Cato. Yes, he will be a fairly valuable asset.

District 1 disappears and is replaced by the stone buildings of my District. I feel nervous anticipation building up in my chest as I see Aurelia bounce onto the stage. It feels disconnected watching someone that is sitting very near me on the screen; it must feel even weirder when it comes time to watch myself. The next-to-me Aurelia squeals in delight at seeing herself; she must think in her deluded mind that she looks amazing. I hear her announce my name and I view myself coming up to the stage. I have to say that although I'm no Glimmer, I was quite attractive. My calm, collected, and strong presentation only strengthened my appearance to possible sponsors, so I'm bound to have close to the amount Glimmer has. Plus, the training scores haven't been shown, and I'm definitely going to get one of the best.

Then I see Cato, lunging through the crowd to earn his slot. He is smirking, so I am aware that monstrous is exactly the angle that he was aiming for. In my opinion, it suits him well. Borellius nods his head approvingly and announces, "See, that's a performance that the Capitol will go wild for. That's a tribute that will have no problem winning over the crowd." I was beginning to let his extreme favoritism toward Cato go, but I am now resenting the both of them all over again.

District 3 passes without an intriguing display. Both of the tributes seem the average for that District; ashen skin, scrawny figures that are shaking with fear, intelligent eyes glazed over. Their wise minds have been a problem before, causing them to prevail numerous times, but they are the least of our problems. After all, I could easily take both of them out in the bloodbath, so they wouldn't get a chance to enact whatever genius plan they have.

Next is District 4, who is the last District whose tributes are constants of our famed alliance. They are the lesser trained out of all of us, but are nevertheless very skilled. Sure enough, the female tribute, who is a volunteer, is tanned and muscular, so she is likely has experience with tridents, nets, harpoons, or any other weapon that involves the sea. The male is surprisingly average looking, and doesn't appear to be particularly excited about being reaped. Hmmm, he is something to contemplate, as we shouldn't readily let him in.

I am convinced that nothing special will come out of District 5, a place where all they do is generate power. I am not proven wrong with the male tribute, who is sniveling and weak, but the female has something…unique about her. Her flaming, sleek red hair and face that resemble a fox are mesmerizing, but what really get me are her eyes. They are a green, and have an intelligent sparkle in them, like she has a plan formulating even as she walks to the stage. That's another thing; when her name is called, she doesn't flinch or pale as the majority of the tributes do, excluding the Careers. She walks calmly to the stage, her features placid and knowing. I'll have to keep a keen eye on that one.

All of the districts up to District 11 passed by in a blur, with nothing the smallest bit interesting, at least not to me. In that District, the escort somehow managed to reap complete opposites. The female is a weak, young, underfed wisp, surely incapable. I grin with perceptible delight. With her in the mix, it might as well be 23 tributes. The male, however, rivals and may even surpass Cato in physical build. I inwardly shudder at the sight of the ox's muscles and broad shoulders. I push any ounce of trepidation that I have to the back of my mind; in order for him to kill me, he has to catch me. I know that I am probably nimbler on my feet than he is, so there is nothing for me to be worried about. I can see Cato's confident expression falter for a moment after he glimpses this Thresh, but he hastily pastes it back on. None of us can afford to be intimidated by him.

Last and definitely least comes District 12, the laughingstock of Panem. I almost laugh out loud at the sight of the square. The dilapidated buildings are blanketed in more coal dust than last year, and the cobblestone street is worn and cracked. The poorest setting for the poorest District, of course. The female's name is picked, and a petite blonde twelve year old begins to mount the stage. This is more than I could have hoped for. _Two _wisps in one Game? This is great news, as I'll have my hands full with that District 11 giant. A desperate voice and unanimous gasps from the people surrounding me jerk me from my thoughts. I turn my focus back to the television and see something that makes me wonder if I am hallucinating. I do a double take but the same image is still playing out. Some dark haired girl, screaming wildly, "I volunteer!" A girl _volunteering _in District _12_? It's unheard of; I don't think that in the past 73 years of Hunger Games it has ever been done before. She doesn't look like much either; her build is lean and slim, and she is not particularly beautiful. What makes a District 12 imbecile think she can volunteer? This has surely caught the attention of all of Panem. She literally shoves the blondie out of the way and starts to climb the steps, but the blondie hangs onto her wailing. _Oh, I think I see where this is going. _A handsome boy retrieves the girl and takes her away. It is revealed that they are sisters, as I had deducted. The whole event is still confusing, though; how can one be so attached to a sibling that they are willing to risk their life? Well, I'm sorry to tell Blondie that her sister won't be coming home.

The male tribute is utterly forgettable in comparison to his District partner. He's stocky, supposedly muscular, and…that's about it. The anthem and seal reappear, and Aurelia shuts of the television. "Did you size up the competition?"She asks. "My, what a surprise District 12 was! And that boy from District 11 was frightening!" she looks guiltily at Cato. "No offense intended," she adds. "You two had better rest up, because it's going to be a big, big day tomorrow! You'll be arriving in the Capitol!" I retire to my room, but I can't sleep. All I can think about are the tributes, especially that girl from District 12.


	5. Arrival in the Capitol

**Author's Note: I am so sorry for the absurdly long wait! I was out of town, and had to update my other story. But here is the chapter regardless! I hope you like it!**

**Chapter 5: Arrival in the Capitol**

When I wake up in the morning, I find that the subtle rumblings of the train have ceased. That can only mean one thing: we have arrived in the Capitol. I leap out of the plush bed and throw open the patterned drapes covering the huge, singular window in my cabin. Sure enough, the glistening buildings and bright shades are spread out in front of me.

My mind is in complete and utter awe. It seems as if I have landed in a dream world. The architecture is magnificent, with curves and ornate balconies and structures that almost touch the sun. I nearly laugh out loud at how I had once marveled at our Justice Building which is probably considered a shack in comparison. The citizens are eye-popping, showing of their colorful hair, clothes, and bodies. That's the one thing I don't like about the Capitol; how freakishly dressed the people are and how an unrespectable manner in which they carry themselves.

I go to the armoire to retrieve a navy blue tunic and black leggings, then head out to the dining car. I hastily realize that the numerous carriages are harder to navigate than I expected, and that I have lost track of the dining room whereabouts. I soon find myself wandering around the train, trying to locate the right door. I think I've found the correct one and am just about to twist the knob when I hear the hushed voices of Morla and Borellius behind it. I press one ear to the wood and strain to listen. Why do they have to talk so insufferably quiet? It makes it so much harder to eavesdrop.

"...that tribute girl from District 12," Morla mutters. "…looks like something." Borellius laughs condescendingly.

"…lacks physical strength," he says. "…won't be competition." Morla sighs loudly in obvious exasperation.

"Borellius," she says. I can understand her clearly, so either I'm adjusting to their soft tones or they are beginning to speak louder. "Who knows what skills she could possess? She didn't seem stupid, and only stupid people volunteer without having a useful talent that could get them far."

"She is from District _12,"_ he states slowly. "Do you really think someone from there could do anything in the Games besides die?"

"What I'm saying," Morla says, "is that you should by under no circumstances underestimate a tribute's capabilities, no matter what District they're from. Although not numerous, District 12 has had victors."

"Sure," Borellius tells her quite skeptically. "I would be more wary of the male from District 11, but by all means, go ahead and mentor Clove however you like. Don't come crying to me when she gets killed focusing on that District 12 girl instead of her other competitors."

"Alright," is all Morla says, but the stiffness in that word confirms that she is just as angry and miffed as I assume. I trust Morla's judgment, though, and am now more determined to watch out for District 12 than ever. It sounds like they are about to leave the room, so I dart down the hall in search of the dining room that brought me here in the first place.

I discover the entrance to the dining room in a matter of minutes, and I am ravenous. My stomach rumbles at the array of breakfast delicacies waiting on the buffet table: a hot brown liquid that smells of sugar and sweet, a variety of exotic fruits, crispy toast, eggs cooked in all different styles, soft biscuits, rolls, and bacon. My mom and I are fairly well off, and District 2 is wealthier than most, but this is taking luxury to a whole new level. The man standing there gives a nod of consent, so I begin filling my plate with the food and my cup with the drink. It is only then, once I have loaded the plate, that I take notice of Cato and Aurelia eating at a table to my right. I go over to join them, plopping in the seat across from Cato.

"Good morning, Clove," Aurelia says as I start shoving food into my mouth. "Have you looked out the window at the Capitol yet? Isn't it marvelous?" I nod, but keep on eating. She shakes her head disapprovingly. "For heaven's sake, manners, dear!" she exclaims. "Don't eat so fast, and at least take some time to respond."

I swallow and put on a charming smile. "Of course, Aurelia," I say. "And I agree, the Capitol was just amazing!" Hopefully she can't detect my thick sarcasm. "And horridly dressed," I add under my breath. I can tell that Cato heard my comment, as he smirks in amusement. This one gesture, how he finds my humor, well, humorous, elates me somehow, but I quickly shake it off. Why do I care what he thinks of me?

"What was that?" asks Aurelia. "Did you say something?"

"No," I reply quickly, and divert my attention back to my meal. Aurelia cranes her neck to see the door and clucks her tongue in annoyance.

"Goodness, where are your mentors?" She frets, dabbing at her forehead. "They should have been here a long time ago. How many times do I have to remind them to be punctual?" I suppress a burst of laughter. To Hunger Games escorts, tardiness is probably one of the seven deadly sins. Just at that moment, Morla and Borellius burst through the doors. Morla takes a place next to me and Borellius next to Cato.

"You two were _late_!" laments Aurelia. "Where were you?" Obviously I am aware of their previous whereabouts, but I pretend to look curious to avoid suspicions.

"Sorry," Borellius says. "We were just discussing strategy." _More like arguing, _I think.

"So as I told you before, today are the Chariot Rides." Morla says to Cato and I. "This is your first chance to get sponsors, so _make an impression. _Whatever you do, you cannot be forgettable."

"I think we've already both got memorable in the bag," Cato says. "What with Clove declining volunteers and my strength, I bet both of us have made an impression."

"Yes," Morla concedes. "But the Chariot Rides let the Capitol citizens see you in person, whereas during the Reapings it was all televised. I know we'd both agree that it wouldn't hurt to win over the crowd."

"Definitely," I say, and Cato nods with me.

"Oh yeah, Cato," says Borellius. "Make sure you show off your physique. Give the female audience something to chew on, if you know what I mean. Flex your muscles, kiss your biceps; that'll make them go wild." Ugh, Borellius just can't get over the fact that Cato is well built. I feel bad for Cato in a way, as when it comes down to our private training sessions with them, Borellius will likely spend the whole time fawning over his muscles. Morla leans in closer to me.

"Just act strong, capable, and above it all," she whispers reassuringly. "I would want to sponsor someone who looks smart yet skilled like you, rather than some conceited tribute flaunting his body anyday."

"Got it," I answer. Morla draws away and addresses everyone now.

"The stylists won't be a problem," she says. "We have two of the best, rivaled by only District 1. So all you need to worry about is your presentation. Other than that, I believe we are done for today."

Aurelia clears her throat as if to remind everyone of her presence. Little does she know that it's extremely hard to forget her in her bubbly lime green attire. "Perfect time to end our little talk, since you two should be exiting the train about now and meeting those stylists! Aren't you just ecstatic for your prep?" Actually, quite the opposite. Not because I'm nervous about the ordeal, but because listening to Aurelia's Capitol voice makes me dread having that same ridiculous accent hammering in my ears due to my Prep Team and stylist.

"For sure," Cato says, artificial sweetness dripping from his words.

"Same here," I echo. "I can't wait!" Aurelia seems pleased with our enthusiastic yet utterly fake responses and abruptly stands.

"Well, let's get going then!" she trills. She beckons us to the door, and I see that photographers and citizens crowd the platform, whooping and cheering and screaming for us to come out. I plaster on my most winning smile and step out into the ocean of people.

**Please R&R!**


	6. An Unexpected Pit Stop

**Author's Note: Hey guys! Sorry everyone for the delayed update! I had to write for my other story, and I had a severe case of writer's block. But we are slowly progressing here! This is more of a humorous chapter, kind of as a comic relief from all of the serious Games stuff that's been going on. I like to jazz things up. The prep will be next chapter, then the Chariot Rides. Enjoy!**

**Chapter 6: An Unexpected Pit Stop**

I am immediately blinded by sharp bursts of light from the cameras. I desperately try to maintain my smile and keep waving as pleasantly as possible. In reality, all I want to do is grab a knife and slowly torture each and every one of the photographers, then throw their dear devices to the ground. In the background, I perceive a Capitol newscaster reporting our entrance. "Here I am at the train station, where District 2 tributes Cato and Clove have arrived. They both made a stellar impression at the Reaping…"

Cato and me's names are being called by numerous people, directing us to look their way. "Cato! Clove! Over here! No, over _here!_" I am quite sure that over time, my grin turns into a grimace of sorts. That's one thing I can give to the escorts; how do they always have such a cheerful expression on their faces? I swear, even on their deathbeds, they would likely be laughing and trilling, "Happy Hunger Games!"

The voice of Aurelia penetrates my brain, and I can honestly say that this is the first time I have been glad to hear it. "Come on, we must go now! You don't want to be late for your first appointment with your stylists!" She ushers us off the platform, quickly enough that I think I am prevented from having my face eternally frozen in that scowl and going permanently sightless.

All of us are pushed into a car headed for the Training Center, where we will be prepared for the Chariot Rides. I rub my eyes until they stop watering, but they regardless carry a subtle sting. "My, my!" Aurelia exclaims breathily. "Wasn't that fun? Your first experience with the Capitol paparazzi! I've done it so many times and it _still _gives me a rush!" So, now I've discovered that escorts are immune to frowns _and _can handle millions of bright lights flashing in their faces simultaneously. Wow, they are _very _talented.

"Yes, of course," I say through barred teeth that Aurelia probably mistakes for a smile. "It was so fun. Blindingly fun, in fact." Cato snorts into his palm, and I notice that his eyes seem a bit red as well.

"I agree with Clove," he repeats. "Especially about the part 'blindingly fun'. It was like I couldn't see anything else but that moment. Literally." Aurelia's beam grows wider and she claps her hands together in delight.

"I am _so _happy you two enjoyed it!" she says. "You should know, the pair last year _hated _things like this. Well, I told them that they could be as sullen as they want to the crowd, but good luck getting sponsors! And surprise, surprise, they died before the Final Eight. I think you both will make it all the way, though, my instincts tell me these things." She reminds me of my mother in a way. I doubt she cares about my survival, either, just the prestige of being the escort of a victor and all of the Capitol events she will earn tickets to.

"Thanks so much," I say sarcastically. I don't have to worry about her detecting it, though; social clues aren't exactly her forte. "I'm definitely glad my incredibly smart and intuitive escort thinks I can make a go of it. That means a _lot_." Ah, as much as I hate Aurelia, mocking her is extremely entertaining.

"Same here," Cato says. "I have to admit I was doubting myself a bit, but you _really _boosted my confidence." Cato Nalir _doubting _himself? I nearly laugh out loud.

Aurelia places her manicured hand over her heart and sighs. "I am honored that you two value my opinion so much. That is a trademark of a good escort, of course. No _wonder _I landed such an esteemed District!"

I longingly think of Morla and Borellius, who are tailing us in another car. Yes, it may be fun to initiate sarcasm at Aurelia's expense, but I desperately wish that they, or more specifically Morla, were here to add the smallest bit of sanity to the conversation and give some sweet relief from her Capitol voice. Maybe Borellius isn't my ideal choice for company, but at least he speaks in regular tones. I believe that another vital organ may be at risk here, since I could go deaf from having to listen to Aurelia and my stylists all day.

Before any of us can say another word, the vehicle jerks and abruptly stops. I see that we are not anywhere near a building that remotely resembles the Training Center, so the car must have broken down. Smoke billows around us, clouding up the windows. "What in Panem is going on here?" Aurelia demands. Shocker, apparently she is capable of any other emotion besides happiness.

The driver, who has blue hair and jewels embedded into his skin, turns around to face us. "The engine busted," he says matter-of-factly, splaying his hands out in a what-can-I-do gesture. This throws Aurelia into a comical frenzy, fanning herself and flapping her hands about wildly.

"The engine _busted? _That means if you don't fix it, they're going to be _late _for their styling! Do you know how bad that is for all of us? My job as an escort is to get the tributes where they need to be on _time, _and this certainly isn't helping!" She gasps as a new realization dawns on her. "I could be _fired, _or God forbid…get moved down to another District! I order that you go out there and take a look _right now!" _She crosses her arms and gives a haughty sniff, which makes Cato and I chortle even harder than we already were. My eyes are tearing up, but for a good reason.

The driver shrugs. "Alright, but I don't think I can help it. Problems of this sort need a proper mechanic." He goes outside and lifts up the front part of the car, closely examining the gears.

Aurelia only now senses our amusement, and turns her glare on us. "How dare you two laugh about this? This is a very dire matter that hurts you just as well as me! If we don't hurry, your stylists may not be able to finish dressing you! You could have to go out with half-finished costumes, and imagine the impact that would have on your sponsorship!" I suppose that she does have a valid point, but her hysterical reaction to the situation is just too hilarious to take seriously.

However, for the sake of avoiding a tedious lecture, I quickly morph my features into the best remorseful appearance I can muster. "I'm sorry," I apologize. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I begin to snicker again at what is going to come out of my mouth next. "I know I'm speaking for the both of us when I say that it was so wrong of me, and I should _never _laugh at the expense of my smart, intuitive escort." I hardly make it through this sentence without bursting into maniacal laughter again. I can tell that Cato is holding back his chuckles as well. "You are completely right about everything, and it did not warrant ridicule from me. Let me repeat, I am deeply, deeply sorry." I am laughing now, really laughing, and Aurelia's eyes narrow even more.

"Fine, then," she says, positioning herself towards the window and sniffs haughtily. Right at that moment, the driver clambers back into the car.

"Bad news," he says. "The vehicle must be towed away to be fixed. I'm afraid you have to find a different ride." Aurelia looks like she might faint, and begins to hyperventilate.

"This…is…an…_outrage!" _she practically screams. "This has never happened before! The tributes are supposed to have _quality _cars that take them places efficiently and speedily. What are we going to do? You just expect us to hail down some random car and take _that _to the Training Center? How undignified!"

The driver shakes his head. "Of course not, Miss Trinket. I've notified one of my partners in the business, and he is sending another car down to retrieve you. Unfortunately, the headquarters are on the other side of the Capitol, so it may take a while. Say…about half of an hour? The Training Center is only about three more miles from here, so another option is going by foot. It may be quicker." I actually would prefer walking, as I have been holed up in the train for the past day and need some exercise. And to contradict Aurelia, of course, since I'm certain that she won't agree; that could result in her breaking the heel of her ridiculously high shoe.

She seethes and takes small breaths through her teeth. "_Wait_ or _walk_?" Aurelia shrieks. She makes it sound as if those are the two worst possible choices that she could ever be presented with. "I am someone of high status! And what do I get in return for my hard work? Accommodations like _this?" _

The driver throws up his hands in defeat, obviously irritated with Aurelia's constant complaints. I wonder why he is being so patient with her; if I were in his position she would be half dead. "Miss, I'm sorry, but that's all I can do." Something beeps, and he slaps a button on the control panel. "It looks like the towing truck is here." He says this is a rather relieved voice, happy to get us out of his sight. "You don't have to make your decision now. If you want to wait for the car, stand right there until a green car in the same style as this one parks at the sidewalk." He points to a little shelter that is open on both sides. "And if you want to walk, here is a map that will help you navigate." He hands me a piece of paper with numerous meaningless squiggles on the front, and gets out to open the doors for us.

We step down and into the open, right next to a shiny glass building that bends in alarming ways. "Good luck," he says, and climbs into the tow truck, which begins to drag the car away.

Aurelia looks like she is going to throw a temper tantrum right here on the sidewalk. In a sudden change of hearts, she takes a deep breath and plasters on a blatantly fake smile. "Well, what's done is done," she says, adapting back to her usual cheerful voice. I can still detect a slight wobble, though. "So, what do you two think we should do?"

"How about we take a vote?" Cato suggests with a smirk. I know what he's thinking; I'm thinking the same thing.

"Alright," Aurelia says. "I vote for waiting for the car. It can't take _that _long, can it? And its worst to have to walk when everyone can see us; that's what the street bums do!"

"I say we should walk," Cato says without further explanation.

"Me, too," I agree with a smile. Aurelia blanches.

"Never mind…let's go back on the vote," she says cheerily. "I'm your escort, and I'm in charge of you. What I decide is what we do." She straightens her coat and heads in the way of the shelter. Cato and I shake our heads.

"We already settled on a vote, and the vote has been resolved." I remind her. "Now let's go. We don't want to be late, do we?" Cato grabs the map out of my hand and begins to walk. I follow him, keeping up with his long strides.

Behind us, I hear cries of protest from Aurelia. "Wait! No….Hold up, I'm coming!" The sound of someone breaking into a run fills my ears. _Snap! _I look back just in time to see her heel break in two. She collapses to the ground and moans.

"What will I do?" she asks sadly, holding up her broken shoe. This walk just got more enjoyable. I go over to her sprawled figure, take the shoe from her hand, and hurl it into the street. Aurelia gasps in horror.

"Give me the other one," I say menacingly.

"Huh?" she says, confused.

"I said, 'Give me the other one," I repeat. "Don't make me pull it off your foot." She slowly takes it off and grants it to me. I throw that one in the opposite direction. "You're going to have to go barefoot," I tell her. By her reaction, she seems like she's never heard those two words. "It means without shoes," I explain. I saunter back to where Cato is standing and watch her drag herself back to a standing position. We begin to walk again, but I abruptly stop and turn back around to face Aurelia. "Oh, I forgot to mention, watch out for the bugs."

"_Bugs?" _she says in disgust.

I nod. "Yes, I read in school that all over Panem, there are these miniscule bugs infesting the ground. You can't see them, but they're there. If you step on one barefoot, they burrow into your skin and plant their eggs in your body. So be careful." Aurelia converts to her tiptoes and starts waddling, squealing with every step. I resume walking normally beside Cato.

He looks at me and smiles. "Not bad," he says approvingly. "Not bad at all."


End file.
